


Who Needs Words When You Have Dance

by Jesheckah



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Multi, No Beta We Die Like Stregabor Should Have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesheckah/pseuds/Jesheckah
Summary: None of the Witcher characters are good with words, with asking for what they want. But they can all dance, can feel the way that other bodies respond.Basically a 5+1 of characters finding love and family through dance.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Vesemir, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gaetan/Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Who Needs Words When You Have Dance

It wasn’t often that Jaskier got Geralt to relax, he was always too twitchy, too worried about humans sneaking up on them. Even with the growing tension and softness between them, Jaskier was rarely able to catch the Witcher’s eye in mixed company. Nights spent clinging to each other in backwater towns didn’t count, not when there was so much more to be said. Not when each touch could have held so much more. 

The only time Geralt relaxed was around non-humans, when he felt like he wasn’t the odd one out. So when Jaskier heard of the fire festival the newly relocated elves were holding he didn’t hesitate to drag Geralt halfway across the continent in search of the elves' new home. It wasn’t like he was expecting some giant confession or even to take their relationship to another level, he just wanted Geralt to relax enough to look him in the eye so he could convince himself not to bolt. 

After a whirlwind welcome by elves who were more than a little drunk, Jaskier found himself sitting across the fire from Geralt, pinned by an intense look he wished to drown in for the rest of his life. Coming to the festival he decided, was an amazing idea. Good wine, warm fires, and safety for Geralt, all the best things in life. 

A few cups of wine later and Jaskier wanted to dance, wanted to feel the earth beneath his feet and revel in not being the entertainment for once. Still holding his cup, he wove in and out of the elves around the fire, enjoying himself in ways he hadn’t for years. His heart in his throat as Geralt’s eyes never left his frame. In retrospect he might have drunk more than he intended, wetting his lips and throat every time he caught the Witcher’s eyes, unable to sate his thirst. In a more sober state he wouldn’t have had the courage to approach Geralt during a particularly fast jig, then again in a more sober state Geralt wouldn’t have accepted. 

Jaskier would have never believed that he could feel so consumed without a single touch. The gentle incline of Geralt’s head as he rose to accompany the bard, the way that the world fell away from his perception, and the intense look that Geralt kept fixed upon his face stretching and bolstering the fragile bond he had felt growing between himself and the Witcher. Never had a dance at court with someone’s body pressed close felt as intimate as this intense jig. Red in the face and out of breath, Jaskier barely noticed as the music changed to something more sedate, as if the bard playing knew the significance of the moment before him. 

Standing transfixed, he could only let out a small whimper as Geralt’s large hand grabbed hold of his hips and settled the bard against him as if he belonged. 

Jaskier rarely got Geralt to relax, but in his mind, the wait was worth it.

\----------------

Fucking cats and their fucking drinking games. That’s all Lambert could blame for the situation he found himself in. Freshly scrubbed hair, clean clothes that weren’t his, and an expectant Aiden looking at him from across a dance floor. A dare he had called it, a simple wager, a forfeit for the person who fell asleep first. How was Lambert to know that the slight man could drink him under the table? He should have said no, thought before he agreed, but instead he wanted to show off and look where that got him. 

The grinning cat extended his arm, beckoning Lambert over and for some reason he went. Let his hands be placed just so around the cat’s waist, the rough silk of the skirt Aiden was wearing rubbing against his trousers. Closer than he liked being even with his brothers, he could feel the heat of the other man’s body on his own, heating his blood in ways he didn’t expect. 

The first beats of the music were much faster than he expected, the abrupt hip movements and almost stomping steps commanding his attention as he sought not to make a fool of himself. Long lost memories coming back to him as if the dance was a fight, the tension between them nothing more than two predators circling each other. 

Suddenly Aiden threw himself into a spin, his head arching backwards as he flung his arms wide, coming back to caress the back of Lambert’s neck in an almost possessive gesture. The next second he was lowering himself along Lambert’s body, his broad back pressing against the front of his thighs, before parting from him and bringing them back together in the beginning position. 

Something in Lambert snapped, letting him drag the cat forward along his body, snarling under his breath as Aiden danced teasingly away, dragging his hands along the toned planes of his stomach and sides. Lambert snatched him close again, holding him close as Aiden dipped his head backwards once again, bending his back and pressing his chest upwards, forcing their cores together and his shoulders away from Lambert. 

The music came to a gentle halt with this last movement, but Lambert found that he couldn’t let Aiden go. Out of breath and captured by the cat’s gaze, he was helpless to do anything but stare and wait for the next move. 

Aiden took pity on him, leading him to a small alcove where the sea breeze chased away the flush on Lambert’s skin. Unable to find words, Lambert was glad then the cat placed his hands back on his waist, moving softly against him, rocking them together and letting the soft motions of their bodies say what the wolf couldn’t find words to convey. Later they would talk and clarify this thing between them, but for now this was enough. 

\------------------

After Sodden, after Yennifer had watched her mentor sacrifice everything to save her, she couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something growing between them. Staying with Triss as she healed them and re-learning magic alongside the rectoress just reinforced the connection, bringing decades of emotions to the surface. It was all too raw, too much, too uncontrolled. 

Yennefer knew they were cut from the same cloth, that they both had emotional depths that could not be explored within a human lifetime. Anger, pain, happiness, and even lust had always topped that list. But now, she was forced to confront the reality that her emotions included love, something that she had always felt made her weak and useless. So rather than talk with the other woman, she kept to her chambers, only coming out when it was required of her. 

Mages being as they were, she really shouldn’t have been surprised when a formal ball was announced. A chance to restore ties with nervous kingdoms, to place useful members of the school back within powerful courts, posturing and peacocking that shouldn’t have been necessary but was all the more important because of Nilfgaard. Even surprised she knew it was her best chance to restore some normalcy to the situation between herself and Tissaia. To return to cold looks and controlled boredom from across the room. 

Of course nothing she planned ever went the way she wanted, so she wasn’t that surprised when she ended up in Tissaia’s arms during a waltz, her leg between the other woman’s, their skirts lightly brushing perfectly neutral expressions that didn’t even hint at the crackling chaos between their bodies. 

Practiced bodies gliding across the floor, motions as familiar to her as her own magic, but something was different. Her fingers trembled where they met with the smaller woman’s waist, her eyes unable to meet Tissaia's. No words were spoken, but she knew from the way the chaos no longer crackled but embraced her own, there was no turning back. This was more than a dance, this was the start of something new. Staid and formal, controlled and hidden, nothing would have been more appropriate. 

In coming years they would explore the depths of their own emotions, plumbing the depths of passion, love, lust, and even anger. But for now, the most intimate expression of their future was this seemingly formal dance, the normality of which disguised blossoming romance from prying eyes. 

\--------

After the trials everything felt different, their bodies, the rhythm of their hearts, even the way that they smelled. They had been warned that nothing lasted past the mutations, that people they once clung to would become distant, that they would never fit together the same way. Geralt and Eskel believed them and weren’t surprised when the other avoided them for years to come. It wasn’t until the keep was raided, their brothers dead in their beds, that they came together once again. 

The first few years were full of timid touches, insults thrown by Lambert that they knew disguised pain he felt at his very core, and night spent in cold rooms. Everything was too fragile, mortality too close in their minds for anything more to happen. Still, they found solace in the knowledge that someone would care were they not to return to the keep. 

It’s Eskel who breaks first, kissing Geralt in front of the stables when he is late returning. Run ragged by the path and limping slightly, he didn’t make it up the pass before the first snowfall. It takes him two weeks to appear, the worst two weeks of Eskel’s life. He regrets it instantly, running into the keep and leaving Geralt to wonder what has happened. 

It’s not until three weeks later, when the stars are twinkling, snow blanketing the fort, and Aiden plays the fiddle for Lambert that they figure it out. Eskel had fled the room as Geralt entered again, choosing to brave the cold outside the stables rather than face the man who had held his heart forever. Staring at the stars he wished more than anything that he could take back the kiss, put this fragile thing back together and pretend that they were nothing more than brothers in arms. 

He hears Geralt approaching from behind, cursing his luck that he cannot run farther than this. He is prepared for his scorn, to lose the last good thing in his life. He’s not prepared for large hands to find his waist and spin him as if he is a small maiden. He’s not prepared to find himself against the strong planes of Geralt’s chest, held tight as music pours forth from the keep. 

They don’t speak, choosing instead to sway in place, fingers gripping tightly to skin they haven’t caressed in years, nostrils filled with the scent of each other, of home. Their hearts beating as one, a different rhythm but the same dance as when they were young. Somehow the trials didn’t take this from them, it was always within their reach. 

They stay beneath the stars until the last notes have long died away, the windless night and twinkling stars providing its own kind of music. Sharing unhurried caresses and gentle kisses before Eskel leads Geralt back into the keep. No longer is the kiss the worst mistake of his life, but the spark needed to bring an old flame back to life. No more cold nights or hearts that beat alone, together they will weather every storm. 

Geralt can’t promise that he will never be late again, Eskel can’t keep himself from new injuries, they can’t pretend that the path won’t demand more from them than they can give. But each winter they sway together beneath the clear sky among the snow, breathing in the scent of home and happiness that they had thought gone forever. 

\-----

Letho has been called many things during his lifetime, Kingslayer, snake, viper, heartless, cold, and so much more. Most of them he has earned and others he won’t dispute. His life is one big series of disappointments, so when Gaetan calls him an unfeeling oaf he isn’t even phased. He isn’t bothered by the cat’s insistence that he doesn’t know love, he isn’t even bothered by the increasing number of insults thrown his way as they travel together. 

Falling into bed with cat just makes sense, they fit together well, the sex is amazing, and Gaetandoesn’t expect emotions from him until he does. It takes Letho an embarrassingly long time to realize that Gaetan doesn’t hate him, that he’s not trying to make him leave, but that he’s trying to make him angry. It seems like the cat feels that anger will be better than nothing. For once in his life, Letho finds that he doesn’t want to be angry, he doesn’t want to hurt the man who has somehow wormed his way into his heart, but he doesn’t know how to tell him how he feels. 

It all comes to a head in some pub at the edge of civilization, drunk on local ale and spirits, Gaetan is getting more creative with his insults, challenging Letho’s ability to do everything from brew a potion to sharpen his blade. Trying to find something that makes the man react. Hilariously it’s an insult to his dancing ability that gets a rise out of Letho. A challenging “you want to bet moggy?” Eyes flashing as he rises to meet the cat’s challenge. 

A languid yet soulful song is being performed inside the pub, but Letho drags the cat into an alley, knowing that a wrong move might end with a fight. The cat’s emotions are too raw, his needs too deep, his fears though unfounded too close to the surface. Witcher hearing makes the music as strong as it would be inside the building, their slow heartbeats providing a counterpoint to the rhythm. 

Gently, Letho caresses Gaetan from behind, trailing his arm along his stomach and chest, along his arm, bringing him close as if to kiss him before bringing their hips together. Moving with the beat he takes them two, then three steps, their lips hovering above each other for mere seconds before he spins the smaller man out. Within two steps he brings them close again, face to face, lifting the cat’s leg around his own, trailing his fingers down his spine and dipping him as their cores touch. 

He quickly whips Gaetan into another spin, catching him with the opposite arm as the hold he has breaks with a lingering touch. Grasping him by hips he brings them close and kisses the smaller man’s collarbones, breathing in the salty musk of his sweat and listening to the fast heartbeat within his chest. He brings his arms to rest around Gaetan’s shoulders, cradling him close and bringing their heads together. He stays that way, moving their hips together and sharing the same breath for several moments before opening his mouth. 

“You could have just asked,” his words causing Gaetan’s eyes to snap open, naked hope warring with anger as the smaller man is trapped, not with force but by the intensity of what he finds. 

“I didn’t know if I would like the answer,” he breathes so quietly that Letho almost doesn’t hear. 

Later Letho will work hard to make sure that he knows in every fiber of his body that he is and will always be the most important thing in his life. For now they breathe together, bodies melting into one, the music and cold night air caressing them gently. 

\-------

When she first arrived at the keep Ciri was afraid, lonely, and felt like she was intruding. Every day she woke up and practiced, watched the residents find each other and hold onto one another like they were the most precious things in life. At times it was too much. Geralt and Eskel acting as if they were mirrors of each other, the bard somehow fitting into the space between them as if it had been made for them. Lambert and his cat sharing looks that would have put her grandmother and Eist to shame. Even the large visitor they had and the high strung cat witcher he brought with him seemed to share a bond that she would never touch. 

They were their own families, forged as much by destiny as their own stubbornness, and while she loved to watch them together, she felt like she would never find such a home again. She avoided them as much as she could, spending her time instead in the library, watching from the shadows in the kitchen as Vesemir cooked in the evenings, hiding away after each practice with the old man in the warmer parts of the keep. 

It took her months to realize she was no longer hiding from the others, but seeking out the company of the oldest worf. That he always had a fire going when she came in to sit, that books she might want to read were always beside her seat, and that she felt she could trust the old man with anything. It was longer still before she began to confess her fears to him, to tell him about her nightmares and to cuddle up to his side as he read. 

It wasn’t until the deep of winter when Jaskier declared they must have a party and the others partnered off to dance that she realized she felt at home. That she knew she could walk up to Vesemir and ask for him to dance with her. For the first time she could remember she felt a smile tug at her face as he led her in a Cintran jig, stumbling through steps she would remember in her sleep. 

She giggled as he moved with unsure legs, his normally graceful movements stilted and unsure until he scooped her up and tickled her until she was out of breath. 

Ciri missed her family, but here she had found another, one wrought by her own hands and destiny. With a father that would do the silliest things to make her smile and do anything to see her grow. Surrounded by the people who had fought to keep her safe and protected she finally felt like she was home.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this, if you can think of any other dances you would like to see characters do let me know in the comments. <3


End file.
